If You Reap What You Sow, I’m Doomed…….

Let’s talk about sex, shall we? I may as well get the not safe for work post out of the way early, so that you aren’t shocked by ones in the future.

Since my separation (and eventual divorce) back in October 2007, I’ve had a few (some) experiences with the opposite sex that were less than ideal. And oh by the way, “experience” is a euphemism for “sexual encounter,” just so you’re all aware. Let’s start with the worst, shall we?

So there I was, at the promotion party of a dude I didn’t even know, but he happened to be dating one of my friends. His brother had flown in from out of town for the party, and we struck up a conversation.

Before I continue, I need to give you a bit of background. I am a very large-breasted woman. I started developing when I was about 9 or 10, and they seemingly haven’t stopped growing ever since. I gain weight, they get bigger. I lose weight, they stay the same. Yes, THEY STAY THE SAME. It’s crazy, but true. I do not have back pain from them. Other than the fact that my bras cost ten times more than average sized ones, they don’t really bother me. Obviously, my orbs can be quite appealing to men with that sort of predisposition. For me, unless my brain is truly engaged in the moment, any activity in that area does absolutely nothing for me and is more tedious than anything else. Okay, so now you have your background and I can continue with my story.

The conversation was going well, and the beer was flowing freely. As my friend had two bedrooms in her apartment, the four of us made our way back to her place (don’t get any crazy ideas…I said TWO bedrooms). So we start fooling around, clothes come off, and he moves down and begins sucking on one of my nipples. Honestly, I wasn’t feeling it, but I figured the entire event would be over quickly as I’d already had a preview of the coming attraction (see what I did there?). Suddenly, he stops, looks at up at me with wide eyes and an expression of utmost gravity, and says, in his very best baby talk, “Mama tell baby to get more milk?”

Yeah. No shit, that’s what he said. I can’t make this stuff up. Even in my buzzed condition, I understood that this was not a normal man, and that I might not escape this situation with all of my dignity intact. So, I did what any other woman would do, I shut him up by placing his mouth back on my breast (which, now that I think about it, was actually an answer to his question. Dammit). Needless to say, the alcohol affected his abilities (thank God for small favors……no pun intended…or is it….), and the encounter was not consummated. He did, however, find a release on his own, which left a stain on my friend’s futon (so sorry). I waited until he was snoring loud enough to wake the dead, then I carefully climbed over him, dressed, and got the hell out of there. As a reward for my poor decision making, I got to the parking lot only to find that my car had been towed because it was left overnight. The cost of this entire experience was a small piece of my dignity and $126. Apparently he was upset that I took off like I did; I just hope he finds a good therapist to help him deal with his mama issues.

My other stories (there are a few more) aren’t quite as long and involved (trust me when I say they’re DEFINITELY not long), and don’t require any background. There was the waiter I met after a disastrous Match date who thought I got stood up, so he walked by my table as I was crying in my beer (not really, it’s an expression. I only cry in public when I’m really angry, just like every other woman….SO ANNOYING) and said “That guy’s an idiot.” Obviously, I fell for it. We also never consummated because he came over to my place and my Boxer Roman immediately hit him in the balls with one of his paws. Good lookin’ out, Roman. Well done.

Then there was the bartender (are you seeing a trend here?) who I’d never seen in street clothes. He showed up at my house wearing a hat that said “My Haters Are My Motivators” and a t-shirt that said “I [heart] Squirters” I so wish I was kidding. That was never consummated either. Maybe that’s because I had to pee so badly. If he ever reads this, I hope it motivates him to perform a complete wardrobe overhaul. Just sayin.

The last story I’ll tell you today is also something I could not make up. Following a baseball game at Nationals Park in DC, I went with a friend of mine to a local bar close to the stadium. I should add that this was a male friend, but not someone with whom I was involved. I should then add that if I was with a female friend, this entire event would not have happened, because a female friend would have poured me into a cab and sent me back to my house. Again, just sayin. Amidst all the drunks that night, there was a dude at the end of the bar reading a book. He was the only one not wearing some sort of Nats or Phillies paraphernalia, and he was deeply engrossed in that book, so obviously I decided to talk to him. We struck up a conversation, my male friend asked me “You good? I’m taking off,” to which I responded, “Yeah! I’m fine!” and then me and bookworm went back to his place. He was also fascinated by my orbs, but thankfully he did not try to seduce me with any baby talk. He must have a decent relationship with his mother. But I digress…so after the deed was done (and yes, as it is 99% of the time, it was less than stimulating. You should totally feel sorry for me), I went to the bathroom. When I got out, he wasn’t in the bed. I walked out to his living room, where he had a floor to ceiling window with a view of the Capitol dome. He was standing in front of the window, facing the Capitol, flexing. Naked. Not gonna lie, his body was a bit on the birdish side, so there really wasn’t a whole lot of musculature to flex. How I managed to not laugh out loud is beyond me. I simply said, “Um, I’m going to call a cab.” I think I startled him, because he stopped his Mr. Universe routine immediately (although he didn’t look the least bit embarrassed) and went to put some boxers on. My cab seemed to take forever to arrive, but finally it did, and I left without his number for obvious reasons. The Phillies may have won that night, but this Phillies fan certainly didn’t.

I think that’s quite enough for today, don’t you? My wild oat sowing days are quickly coming to an end (much like the encounters themselves), and I must say, that doesn’t bother me in the least. While I feel strongly that one should test drive the merchandise before making a purchase, I’m going to take a little more time reading the owner’s manual before I try out the stick. What? I’m following along with the car metaphor. Anyway, I guess I have to get a date before I even have the opportunity to do that, but one step at a time, please. Until then, there’s always good old Duracell.